To Teach a Heart
by SerenLyall
Summary: Han and Luke play a prank. Their target? A certain obdurate princess.


**Disclaimer:** Star Wars and all there-related characters, objects, places, names, etc. do not belong to me. I promise to return them safely home before dinner. No profit was made from the writing of this.

**Rating/Warnings:** K+; some mild cursing (no worse than is heard in the movies)

**Time frame:** Some point between _A New Hope_ and _Empire Strikes Back_

**Notes:** Han/Luke/Leia bromance is one of my favorite things in the world. Throw in a little bit of Wedge and Wes, and you have a recipe for "all hell breaks loose." I've just gotta say, this was an absolute blast for me to write - and something of a sanity saver as well. I hope you all enjoy reading it just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

To all of my fellow Americans, happy (belated) Thanksgiving, and I hope you had a safe Black Friday.

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><p><span><strong>To Teach a Heart<strong>

"I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Luke hissed. An eye roll and a placating wave of the hand was his only reply. "Han," Luke pressed, unwilling to give up so easily, shifting from foot to foot as he glanced up and down the deserted corridor.

"You were totally fine with this this afternoon," Han retorted, turning his head to glare at his young companion, his hands stilling their work for a moment. Though his voice was little more than a whisper, Luke could not mistake the smuggler's rippling undertone for anything but exasperation.

"Well…yeah," Luke admitted. "But that was this afternoon. I just dunno…"

"You got Wedge and Wes in, right?" Han asked. At Luke's nod, he turned back to the panel he was wrist-deep in, and went back to work. "Good," he said. "So why are you so worried about this? We can always pin blame on one of them."

At that, Luke snorted. "You know as well as me that's not gonna happen."

Han shrugged indelicately. "Get ready to open the door," was all he said.

Luke gave in without further protest, obeying Han's instruction and shifting so that his shoulder was pressed against the door they were trying to open. Only a few seconds later, the silence was punctured by a sharp _hiss _of the lock releasing. Luke grunted quietly as the door shuddered beneath his push, then gave a sudden jolt as it slid open an inch. Han joined him, and together they pushed and pulled the door open just wide enough to allow someone to slip through sideways.

Han gave Luke a nudge, and raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Luke scowled, shaking his head, and nudged his friend back, a pointed glare darkening his face. _"We agreed you go in,"_ he mouthed silently. Han's eyes narrowed, but then he shrugged and gave his patented smirk. _"Coward,"_ he mouthed, then disappeared through the narrow gap in the door.

It was Luke's turn to roll his eyes, but then he turned his attention back to the corridor. It would do neither of them any good if they were found out now, before their work could be discovered by the intended recipient.

Han reappeared a few moments later, sliding out of the room and back into the hall, now carrying a bulging cloth bag. Luke raised his eyebrows in a quick question, to which Han nodded curtly. Together, they put their backs against the door and slid it shut. The lock clicked as the door resealed.

Luke paused by the panel for just long enough to fit the grate back into place, and then he was racing down the corridor after Han. As he twisted around the nearest corner, heart thundering in his ears and breath rasping in his throat, he wasn't sure whether he was more exhilarated or terrified that their plan had actually worked.

He would decide later, he concluded at last as he dodged through the hangar bay door—_after _all was said and done.

_**-b-**_

The blaring chirp of her chrono dragged Leia from her half-drugged sleep, dropping her rudely back into reality with the cold bite of a sharp knife. She groaned as she rolled over, fumbling blindly in the dark of her windowless quarters, reaching for the offending piece of technology. Her fingers connected, and instinct guided her movements as she silenced the irritating alarm.

Kicking her blanket off her legs, Leia swung her feet to the floor. The tile was bitterly cold, but Leia welcomed the shock—it helped to drive the clinging fog of sleep and medication from her stumbling thoughts, knocking the stringy, sticky webs away from her mind. She took a deep breath, held it until her chest began to ache, and then scrubbed a hand down her face as she released the pent-up air—as if by doing so, she could wipe away and cleanse herself of the nebulous echoes of memory and nightmare.

Standing abruptly, she flicked the switch on her bedside lamp, and warm yellow light filled her small, utilitarian room, washing the white walls with a broad blanket of synthetic warmth. She was one of the lucky ones—though the electricity had yet to be restored to her quadrant of the new rebel base, due to her status, she had been granted one of the few hundred lamps scrounged out of their dwindling stores.

Crossing to the box that served as a temporary dresser, Leia steeled herself to face the day, running through the list of meetings she had been asked to attend, files she needed to finish reading and sorting, and people she needed to talk to. She knelt, distractedly lifting the lid from the dresser-box—

And then froze, eyes going wide, lips parting in an expression of silent shock. The bare depths of the box stared mockingly back at her. As if not daring to actually believe her eyes, Leia reached down into the box, fingers trailing through the empty air assuring her that her sight had not lied.

Someone had stolen every article of clothing she possessed, save the underwear, bra, shorts, and tank top she was wearing.

In an instant, every shred of shock crystalized into white hot fury. "_SOLO!_" Leia bellowed, springing to her feet and dashing for her door, which slid smoothly open as she punched the lock release. She dashed into the corridor, bare feet sticking as she all but careened into the opposite wall, only a well-placed hand keeping her from slamming face-first into the plastisteel paneling.

No scruffy Corellian's smirk met her furious glare. For an instant she hesitated, wondering if her first assumption had been correct—surely he would want to enjoy his handiwork?—but then she dismissed her second guessing. Who else would dare to pull something like this? Even Luke wouldn't dare it, unless he had Han's backing. Everyone else was too terrified of her—and the rest of High Command—to try something like _this _on her.

That meant there was only one place her stolen clothing would be, though: stashed somewhere on the _Millennium Falcon_, in the hangar halfway across the base.

"I am going to kill that man," Leia growled, turning on her heel and starting in the direction of the hangar. _The gall of him!_ she seethed as she stalked down the corridor, fully aware of the dangerous thunderhead of a scowl darkening her eyes and thinning her lips into a painfully white line.

"Oh, good morning, Princess Leia!"

Leia looked up sharply to see Wes Janson approaching from the opposite way. She scowled at him, daring him to say anything regarding her current attire. Wes, as per usual, either misinterpreted or ignored her silent warning. Leia suspected it was the latter.

"Running late this morning, your Highness?" Wes asked cheekily, "Or did they change the uniform without notifying me?" He grinned. "I must say, I do approve of the change."

"So help me, Janson," Leia said, tone black with warning, "if I find out you were a part of this…" She trailed off threateningly.

"I don't know what you could possibly mean," Wes retorted brightly. "I hope you have a fantastic morning," he added, and then swept past Leia with a gleeful grin plastered across his sunny features.

"Right," Leia huffed, suddenly acutely aware of the looks she was drawing, standing barefoot and almost half naked in the middle of one of the main corridors, early morning personnel streaming around her. Sending a sour glare to any staring at her, Leia whirled and resumed her irate stalk, casting one final glance over her shoulder in the general direction that Janson had taken. For an instant, she thought he was watching her, but before she could be certain he was disappearing around a corner, right hand falling lazily to his side where it swung in perfected nonchalance.

_If Janson is in on this,_ Leia thought, turning a corner and striding down the next hall, _that means Luke is in on it too. Han would never be able to convince any of the rest of Rogue Squadron._ She started imagining just how she was going to eviscerate each and every one of them.

The hangar was even colder than the hallway had been, and as Leia stepped into the cavernous underbelly of the base, the clanging of ship maintenance, rattle of grinding gears, and sizzles of showering sparks echoing in and out of the hulking shadows of row upon row of ship, Leia felt a new thrill of ire crawl up her spine. She could _feel _the eyes on her as she crossed the hangar floor, weaving in and out of the docked Starfighters and freighters—could _sense_ the grins and whispers following in her wake. She gritted her teeth, and decided that the eviscerations would be done with the bluntest object she could find.

The _Falcon_'s ramp was down when she approached, the door standing open. With a stride measured to strike the utmost fear into the hearts of lesser men, Leia swept up the ramp and into the _Falcon_'s main hold, head held high and a disdainful glare firmly in place.

Luke was sitting across from Han at the table, one foot propped jauntily up on his knee as he leaned back in his chair. They both looked up quickly as she entered, eyes going wide. Luke looked away quickly—out of guilt, Leia viciously suspected. Han, however, merely smirked at the sight of her, leaving Leia to bristle as his eyes flicked up and down, taking her in from head to toe.

"Not exactly what I'm used to seeing you in," Han commented smugly, "but I can hardly complain."

"Where are my clothes?" Leia snarled, cutting straight to the point.

"What, did you lose them?" Han asked, the perfect picture of innocence.

"You know very well they were taken," retorted Leia hotly. "Now where are they?"

"Wait, they were taken?" Luke asked, looking up just as quickly as he had looked away. He was frowning, the faintest lines forming between his eyebrows, just as they did whenever he was concerned or surprised.

_Maybe he wasn't part of it,_ Leia mused.

"Or maybe her Royal Highnessness is just really bad at remembering where she puts things," Han pointed out with a cocked eyebrow. "Makes you worry for the success of this little Rebellion here, if she can't even keep track of her own clothes."

Leia bristled. "You took them," she snapped, taking a step closer and lifting a finger to jab into Han's chest. "Now where are they?" Han simply smirked broader, lips pulling back from his teeth in a ragged grin.

To Leia's surprise, it was Luke who spoke, interrupting the silent battle of wills raging between her and the Corellian. "Wedge did come onto the ship just a few minutes ago carrying a bag," he commented. "He asked us if we could stash it. Han told him he doesn't like other people's stuff cluttering his ship, so he sent Wedge on. But…"

"Janson," Leia hissed under her breath, the pieces beginning to click into place. "He must have warned Wedge I was coming."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Han said with a roll of his eyes. "But when Wedge left, he was headed for the lifts up to Level 3. You may be able to catch him."

Leia took a step back, turned to leave, then whirled back to glare at Han. "You had better not have had anything to do with this," she warned. Before Han could plead his innocence once more, however, Leia had turned and was hurrying out of the _Falcon_.

She was just starting back down the ramp when Leia heard a man yelp, then curse loudly and vehemently. Eyes snapping to the source, she caught just a glimpse of Wedge Antilles turn on his heel and flee back into the heart of the hangar, a bulging cloth bag clutched to his chest. Leia lunged forward with a shout that sounded vaguely like his last name—though, off-handedly, Leia mused that it sounded more like a wordless battle cry—and she hit the hangar floor in a dead sprint.

Wedge led her on a merry chase, weaving and ducking in and out of ship and crewmember, dodging around equipment and leaping over parked speeders. Personnel scrambled to clear a path for her, jerking machinery out of her way and tucking themselves and their tools safely to the side. Leia barreled past them with hardly a second glance, all of her attention focused on the elusive figure darting just ahead.

By the time they had circled back around to the _Falcon_, Leia's bare feet were stinging fiercely, and her breath was coming in gulps. She exploded out of a narrow by-way between two cargo ships, the _Falcon_ ahead of her, just in time to see the Rogue Squadron pilot slide to a halt.

"Antilles!" she shouted, voice ringing loud and clear through the hangar.

Wedge glanced over his shoulder, a crooked grin just visible. And then he turned, and tossed the bag he carried to a shadowed figure just descending down the ramp.

Luke caught the bag deftly, grinned impishly at Leia…and then took off toward the hangar exit.

"That treacherous little _traitor_!" Leia fumed, readjusting her course to take her past the _Falcon_ and after Luke. She spared only an instant in which to shoot Wedge a murderous glare—then she was sprinting past him as he doubled over, elbows on his knees, panting for breath.

Luke had halted by the door leading from the hangar bay, but as soon as he saw Leia drawing near he started, spun in a comical circle, and then darted out into the hall. Leia put on a burst of speed and tore after him, erupting through the door in a shower of half-shouted curses in three languages, nearly crashing into two technicians holding datapads in the process. Only an instinctive leap on her part—and their shocked and terrified freezing—saved all three of them from tumbling to the ground in a heap.

"I SWEAR TO THE GODDESS, LUKE SKYWALKER," Leia shouted, putting out a hand to help guide her around the corner, "IF YOU DON'T STOP RIGHT THERE…" Leia trailed off in a pant, gulping air into her starved lungs as she pushed herself even faster.

Luke, who had his own best interests in mind, did not stop.

Down one corridor, dodging around a corner, up a narrow flight of steps—_Why do we always get the old, antiquated facilities for our bases?_ Leia grumbled to herself, her sour thoughts accompanied by the dour burn in her legs as she took the stairs two at a time—then through a Communications Room.

The men and women in the Comm. Room were the most startled, all of them turning to watch as she appeared suddenly, vaulted over a bench, then chased Luke's boot heels out the door. As she sprinted past the last desk, though, she heard one woman call after her, "You get him!"

Just as she thought she was about to catch him—she had narrowed the gap between them to a mere half dozen feet, and Luke was definitely slowing—Leia caught a glimpse of someone barreling down the hallway that intersected theirs. Then, before she could fully grasp what was happening, Wes Janson sprinted straight past Luke, only barely avoiding a full-body collision by twisting at the last second. Luke instantly slowed to a walk, turned, then spread his arms out wide—clearly empty.

"Dammit!" Leia cursed, launching the word at Luke like a flaming missile as she swung past him. A carefully aimed elbow slammed into his stomach as she passed, and Leia was gratified to hear a choking yelp of pain from behind her. She did not slow to enjoy her small victory, however.

Her legs seared, her feet stung mercilessly, and her lungs were burning with a fierce, unrelenting fire. But Leia gritted her teeth and pushed on, following Wes around the corner and into the main corridor, then down the wide, well-used thoroughfare to the atrium. She allowed a grim smile as she reached the top of the four broad, shallow steps that led down into the vaulted foyer that formed the very heart of the base, and paused for an instant just before she jumped.

"Stop that man!" she ordered, pitching her voice as loud and carrying as she could manage with her minimal breath reserves. People turned, confusion and surprise warring as they looked first to her standing at the top of the stairs, to the crowd surrounding them, searching for the man she was pointing to.

Wes panicked, tried to make a break for the nearest exit, and was promptly tackled as a guard put two and two together. Wes struggled for half an instant, before suddenly going limp in the soldier's tight hold, allowing himself to be dragged upright in a chokehold.

Leia jogged across the atrium floor, breathing heavily and eying the pilot disapprovingly. "Just what were you thinking?" she asked him sharply, as soon as she was within easy speaking distance.

Wes merely grinned, hanging limply in the guard's hold, and shrugged. "We thought you could use with some cheering up," he said simply, a glint of terrible mischief dancing in his dark eyes. "You're too serious yaknow, your Highness," he told her.

"And you thought _this_," Leia gestured vaguely around her, indicating the whole situation, "would cheer me up?" she asked with raised eyebrows.

"Dunno," Wes responded, shooting her a crooked grin. "Did it?"

"Just tell me where my clothes are," Leia sighed, more than ready to be done with the whole deal. She was hot, sweaty, and exhausted, and she had the sneaking suspicion she was already going to be late for the first meeting with High Command at 0900.

"Unfortunately," Wes sighed dramatically, spreading his arms as widely as he could, pinioned as he was by the guard still holding him tightly, "I don't have them anymore. Han was supposed to pick them up from me right…well, right here."

Leia spun, frantically searching the floor for a telltale bulging cloth bag. Those who had stopped to watch the drama unfold scuttled back, twisting and turning as they looked as well. There was nothing—only white tile and shifting feet.

"Looking for this?" Han's voice soared over the low murmur of chatter. Leia glanced up, and saw the Corellian standing at the top of the steps opposite those she had entered down. He was holding the bag in one hand, his customary smirk fixed jauntily in place.

"You-" Leia spluttered, only to choke on the jumble of curses, foul names, and unintelligible shrieks that all tried to force their way out of her mouth at once. She turned to the guard holding Wes. "Let him go," she ordered, then fixed her glare in turn on the third conspirator. "Don't think this is over," she warned him. And then she was moving once more, cutting her way through the shifting crowd, straight for the smirking Han standing at the top of the stairs.

He let her reach the first step before he moved so much as a muscle. As soon as her foot touched the bottom stair, though, he turned, and just like that, he was away, racing down the hall with a cackle trailing after him. Leia didn't even hear the guard's "Do you want us to go after him?" as she followed.

It only took Leia halfway down the corridor to know that she would never be able to catch Han. Not only was he faster than her, but she was exhausted and nearing the end of her ability to keep up the chase. As she turned down a side corridor leading toward the meeting rooms, Leia cast her thoughts about for something—anything that might help her. A trap, an ally, a shortcut…

A thought came to her. The meeting rooms were clustered together in a well-protected corner of the base. The only way in or out of the area was the main corridor leading to the atrium, or the staircase at the end of the hallway, which led up to a floor of storage rooms. There was a second staircase leading up to the second floor, however—one that only a handful of people even knew about, and even fewer people used. It was at the back of High Command's record room—the place where much of the most sensitive information was catalogued and stored—meant as a fast escape route. The stairwell led directly from the record room and adjacent meeting chamber to an upper-level hallway, which connected to the hangar bay. That same hallway was also accessible by the primary stairwell—but in a more circuitous route.

_He's going to go back to the Falcon_, Leia thought. _He'll go up the stairs and double back around._ She grinned. _He won't expect me to be waiting for him._

Doubling back, Leia cut down another side hall, then turned into a small vestibule set into the end of the corridor. A single door stood at the far end, innocuous and looking like nothing more than a small office or store room but for the blinking keypad mounted on the wall to the left of the interlocking door frame.

It was the work of a second for Leia to punch in her command code. With the _crank_ of the bolts sliding back, then the _hiss _of the seal releasing, the door slid open on noiseless runners. Leia stepped into the welcoming, blue shadows of the record room, and the door slid shut behind her.

"Hey! What're you-" someone began, voice rising in a panicked shout as a dimly illuminated figure jumped toward her.

"Oh, kriff," Leia hissed, backpedaling quickly so as not to run into the man looming over her. She hadn't actually thought anyone would be in the room.

"Princess Leia?" The second voice was a woman's—quieter, softer, and full of concern. "Is everything alright? What's happened?"

In that instant, Leia realized just how bad of an idea this had been. _Yes Organa, use one of the base's top security rooms as a shortcut,_ she chided herself, _just to get your kriffing _clothes_ back. What could possibly go wrong?_

It was too late to go back on her actions now, however—and besides that, her time was running out. Despite her shortcut, if she didn't move fast, she'd lose her advantage over Han, and she'd be right back to chasing his footsteps.

"Nothing's wrong," she said in as reassuring a tone as she could muster, even as she slid under the arm of the man standing in front of her and dodged around the woman standing a few paces past him. Picking up her pace, she darted around a databank terminal, angling her path toward the door leading to the stairwell at the back of the room. "I'll explain everything later," she promised over her shoulder. "Oh," she paused, one hand on the door handle, "and I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone else." Before she could hear a reply—either affirmative or negative—Leia was dashing up the stairs, the door swinging shut with a hollow _bang_ that chased her up the stairwell.

Praying that she wasn't too late, Leia keyed open the door at the top of the stairwell, and shoved her way out into the hallway beyond.

She had an instant of warning. A shout, the sound of sliding footsteps, and a glimpse of someone out of the corner of her eye. She acted on pure instinct, not even taking the time to properly gauge where she was leaping, and threw herself forward in a tackling spring. The breath was slammed from her lungs as she collided full-force with the man a mere foot away, and then they were tumbling to the ground in a tangle of thrashing arms and kicking legs.

Leia rolled clear, fighting her way free of the hand that clutched for her wrist, staggering to her knees, then to her feet. Han lay flat on his back beneath her, lips parted as he wheezed for breath, one hand still clutching convulsively at the air where her arm had been the moment before, the other arm wrapped protectively around the bag.

Stepping forward, fighting to breathe normally—she would _not _give Han the satisfaction of seeing just how winded and exhausted she was—Leia leaned down and plucked the bag from Han's grasp. She moved back, out of Han's reach, and flipped open the bag's flap to peer inside. There, horribly crumpled as if they had been crammed in without a second thought—_which they probably were_, Leia mused—were her clothes.

Han laughed hoarsely as he climbed to his feet, coughing as he rubbed his chest where she had landed. "You're a lot heavier than you look," he commented dryly, smirking that infuriating smirk.

"You're a lot slower than you look," Leia shot back, closing the bag and slinging it over one shoulder, glaring all the while.

"How'd you get ahead of me anyway?" Han asked.

"That's none of your concern," Leia snapped. "Now, are you going to get out of my way, or do I have to tackle you again?"

Han stepped back, lifting his hands in mock supplication. "Gods forbid I get in your way, Your Great Royalness."

Leia clenched her jaw, and fought down the surge of boiling anger. "You self-righteous, arrogant thranta," she spat.

"That's a new one," Han snickered. "Glad to hear you still have _some_ creativity mixed in with all that stiff-backed politicking you breathe. Honestly, it's a wonder you haven't choked on it all yet."

Leia opened her mouth to retort, then closed it again with a snap as understanding began to trickle in, the seed that Wes had planted blossoming into something much fuller—and much crueler—in her breast. Han watched her in silence, and for an instant Leia felt pinned beneath his gold-flecked hazel gaze, as if he was binding her where she stood—as if he was peering down into her very soul. She couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't even think.

And then he laughed, and the moment shattered like crystal.

"If I were you, I'd keep a better eye on your clothes from now on," Han called over his shoulder as he turned and strode down the hallway, back toward the hangar.

Leia watched him go, a sea of conflicting emotion churning within her.

Her comm. beeped, and Leia looked down. Then promptly cursed as she caught sight of what time it was. 0910. The meeting had begun ten minutes ago, and she was still in her pajamas. Whirling, Leia sprinted for the nearest empty room with a lock.

_**-b-**_

"Leia, would you stay for a moment please?"

Leia watched as the rest of the council filed out of the meeting room. When the door swung shut behind the last of them, she turned to look at the sole remaining person in the room, smiling pleasantly. "What can I do for you, Mon?" she asked.

Mon Mothma rose from her chair at the head of the table, and came around the edge of the table to take a seat beside Leia. The chiding, questioning look the older woman bestowed upon the princess was somehow both gentle and severe—and Leia knew precisely what was coming.

"You were fifteen minutes late to the meeting this morning," Mon said. It was neither judgment nor query—it was simply a statement made with the perfect absence of inflection, the better for Leia herself to interpret how she _expected_ Mon to react to the situation. Leia, however, had learned her mentor's favorite tricks many years ago.

"Yes, I was," she answered simply. "I do apologize," she added, weighing her words with just the right amount of penitence and shame.

Mon's deep sigh took Leia by surprise, causing her to look quickly up at the older woman. "When are we going to stop doing this, Leia?" Mon asked quietly, with a gentle shake of her head.

"I'm not sure I follow…"

"This dance of politics. This bandying of words. This…this perfect composure, this perfect game that you and I always seem to play with each other. I know when it began-" _(with fire and death and loss, so much loss—Leia a father, Mon a best friend)_ "-but when is it going to end?"

Leia frowned. And then for the first time in many months, Leia thought she truly _saw_ Mon Mothma—saw her not as the fearless Rebel leader, or the stalwart stateswoman, or the cunning politician, but saw the woman who had been her friend and mentor not so many years ago when the world had been a simpler, safer place.

For an instant, Leia nearly lied. For an instant, Leia nearly allowed the politician to answer for her—allowed her tongue to say the words that she knew Mon wanted to hear, just as it was trained to do. For an instant, Leia nearly did the very thing Mon was asking her to cease.

Leia bit her tongue.

When she spoke, she spoke the truth. "I don't know," she said softly.

And then another surprise. Mon reached out, and gently cupped Leia's cheek with her hand. Her eyes bled as she looked down at the Leia, and for a moment Leia found she could not breathe, so trapped was she beneath the sorrow and the pain of the elder woman's gaze.

In a flash, she understood.

"I'll be fine," Leia said softly, looking up into her old mentor's eyes. "This war—it isn't the end. It _won't_ be the end." And as the words left her lips, Leia knew that was the truth as well. Because Han and Luke wouldn't let it happen.

_They won't let me break. They won't let me forget that I'm not alone. They won't let me lose myself, even if it takes stealing my clothes to do it._ And that was terrifying and exhilarating all at once, and Leia didn't know whether she should laugh or cry.

Mon's hand fell away, and the older woman stood with a curt, brisk nod. "Don't be late again," she warned. She rose to leave, but hesitated by the door, pausing just long enough to turn back once more. Leia looked up, raising her eyebrows questioningly.

"Your father would be proud, Leia," Mon Mothma said softly.

And then with that she was gone, leaving Leia alone in the empty room.

* * *

><p><strong>Notes:<strong> Many thanks for reading, and I truly hope you enjoyed! Remember, reviews are love.


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